


Minor Bleeding

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Dark Crack, M/M, Mirror Universe, Power Dynamics, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mirrorverse lite.</p><p>What would the Empire look like with Jim at the helm and Bones as his pretty consort? Well, it's probably going to be a bit dangerous, a bit sexy, and a bit of everything and anything that Jim Kirk wants it to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minor Bleeding

Jim Kirk is a minor cut that won't stop bleeding.

Harmless upon first glance but angled just perfectly to kill. He's corrosive, toxic, absofuckinglutely insane, and he absofuckinglutely knows it.

And more importantly, he's on the rise. He's just taken control of the fleet so, he asks himself, why not the entire Empire? McCoy _would_ make a very pretty consort. Wrapped in fine satin and exotic gems. Perched on a cushion of velvet at Jim's feet. Not that he'd ever just  _obey_ long enough to get wrapped in riches. The bastard won't sit still at staff meetings never mind on the fucking throne. If McCoy could just understand what Jim wants to make of him... If he'd just fall into the curves of the mould Jim has made _for_ him, he'd be the most powerful man in the Empire.

Because everyone knows a queen is the only person who can rule a king.

It's his pride. Jim knows this. He won't submit to Jim because it would be like giving up. Giving in. And McCoy just loves to resist. Can't bare to give Jim even an inch. Jim thinks about the rise and fall of McCoy's chest as he sleeps. He doesn't mind the feel of fur against his skin then. Doesn't mind the luxury Jim can afford him behind closed doors in the dark cover of night. But he had crushed the onyx stone Jim tied around his throat on the Feast of Saint Valentine. Crushed it under his standard issue away mission boot until the gem was nothing but black soot. Worthless as dust. Maybe it was the silk ribbon that the stone was threaded through, maybe it reminded McCoy of a collar. It reminded the doctor that he _belonged_ to Jim, that Jim _owned_ him. That he was just Jim's thing to keep as he wished, tied to his Captain's whims like that choker should have been tied around his neck.

Jim had fucked him slow and deep that night. Had fucked McCoy just how he liked it, reminded McCoy how things could be if he would just _yield_ to Jim.

Succumb to his master's fancies.

But even after all these years, the three in the academy, the two before Khan and the five year mission afterwards, McCoy still begrudged Jim every little whimper, every breathy moan or sordid gasp.

If McCoy was a mare he would have been shot by now.

If McCoy was a mare he would have already _broken_.

But that wasn't what Jim wanted. Not in the privacy of their quarters anyway. He would appreciate a bit of respect when they were in the company of others though. He so hated having to reprimand McCoy in public. Like a little child who didn't know better, didn't mind their manners when mommy and daddy were using the good china.

Consorts didn't act in a way that demanded a scolding.

Jim had heard of a small island on Risa that offered 'spousal conditioning' to those with the right resources to pay for it. He had considered it but sighed and quickly dismissed it. Jim Kirk might cheat at cards but he couldn't cheat McCoy. This was something Jim needed to do for himself. Ten years and he hasn't tamed McCoy. Most said it was the one thing outside his power. Something he just simply _could not do_. (If they said it aloud they lost their tongues.)

Jim Kirk didn't believe in no-win scenarios.

 

...

McCoy is scowling again, even as Jim massages the soft skin of his ankle. They're currently stationed on Earth while the Enterprise is refitted and Jim is promoted to Admiral of the Fleet. But his lover seems more absorbed in watching the rain pour outside the windowed wall of their penthouse apartment so Jim scraps his nails up McCoy's shin and he huffs.

"What?" He demands, voice breaking over the quite lull of their living room like wave over rock in an otherwise tranquil sea.

"Pay attention." Jim says gently.

"To what, exactly, is my attention required?" McCoy counters.

" _Me_." Jim grins a feral, twisted grin, fire alight in his blue blue eyes.

"Infant." McCoy whispers.

Jim basks in McCoy's endearment and returns to stroking McCoy's skin, smoothing over the raised welts. Even though, personally, Jim quite likes the look of that dulcet pink against McCoy's tanned body.  When Jim looks up from his handiwork McCoy's eyes are fixed on him. Wide-eyed like a doe, head dipped in a bashful, coy sort of way. Plush lips slightly parted.

Lips that look _so_ beautiful stretched around his cock.

"You'll make a very pretty Empress." Jim purrs.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, _Captain_." McCoy huffs, and the scowl is back.

"Aren't you even slightly giddy that you get to play mistress to the Admiral of the Fleet?" Jim asks.

"It's taken you long enough." McCoy shrugs, nonchalant in his criticism, as though ripping Jim apart comes naturally to him. Jim wonders if Marie Antoinette broke hearts this easily.

 

...

The current Empress has four children that Jim must contend with. And McCoy has recently hinted at his predilection for the position of Surgeon General.

Jim has never admitted to being a saint.

He kills the Empress' eldest son with a flourish of his fist and a well-placed carving knife. The Empress stands and begins to clap, demanding the Admiral get an ovation. He bows, like any good servant of the fleet would, and exits the dinner hall. And then there’s Boyce. Boyce; who is only happy to retire when he finds his only daughter raped and beaten to within an inch of her life.

"You allowed the girl to live?" Spock questions.

"Alive and she can still be killed. Dead and I would have lost my leverage." Jim explains.

"Most logical, Admiral."

The Empress is fond of her three remaining children. They're all girls, you see. So Jim must go about this carefully. He'd like to keep the youngest. She's a delicate little thing that foreign species would dote upon if she were kept behind the bars of a cage in a zoo. Her body is pale like spun sugar and her hide would be worth it's weight in dilithium to the Klingons. Easy capture, easy disposal. He donates the dilithium to Scotty's little store in the hull of Engineering and no one is any the wiser.  She hadn't _tasted_ as sweet as sugar but perhaps that is because McCoy had refused his advances for the rest of the week.

"I am the Captain of this ship. I am an Admiral; you will do as I say!" He roars on the third night of McCoy's sexual hiatus.

"I will do as I damn well please." McCoy calls back, slamming the door to their bathroom.

"I'll booth you. I swear to- Get out of there!" Jim yells into the synthetic wooden material of the door, his override is apparently useless so he begins to hack, _hack_ , his own system.

When he enters the bathroom McCoy is using their water rations with abandon. The sight of McCoy makes Jim seethe but then a pang of something traitorous shoots through his chest when he realises McCoy sitting in the basin, still fully dressed, knees drawn up to his chest, held in place by his forearms, elbows locked. And the water is cold. McCoy's hair is skewed over his eyes and his breathing can't be heard over the relentless pour of water but can be seen in the shaky rise and fall of his chest.

"What are you doing?" Jim asks, voice soft and adoring.

"You slept with both of them." McCoy murmurs after a while of looking up at Jim dazedly.

"Just for show." Jim assures him. "To send the right message."

"You sold Eliza to the Klingons, who would have known?" McCoy demands, gulping down a breath.

"They would have. _I_ would have." Jim states and the discussion is ended with Jim turning off the faucet. That's that.

 

...

The day before they leave for their next mission, only a six month stint warmongering in the gamma quadrant, the Empress requests an audience with Jim.

And doesn't that sound regal.

Jim politely accepts the request and entertains the Empress in his suite the following evening.

She is a fine woman.

She sits rod straight and Jim knows that even now, at one-hundred and twenty-six she still keeps two poisoned tipped darts sheathed under her many layers of pastel-coloured voile, draped from her middle to the floor.

"You will be my heir." She says, like an order but also like a plea. She wants his madness to stop, wants to put an end to his rampage. Her coming undone sparks something hungry and triumphant in the depths of Jim's belly.

It's victory, he thinks.

"Of course." Is what he actually says, inclining his head in a low, languid bow. The Empress stands and he follows her lead. She stops at the door to put her two, frail looking, hands on either side of his head, tracing her thumb over the slightly abraded skin of his cheeks. She pulls him towards her and kisses his forehead, it's a quick, feather-light touch.

It speaks of her admiration, her respect. She is but another one of his conquests, lured to him by his charismatic smile and happy to concede to his evil genius because she is privy to his dark nature. And she fears it. She has felt the cold prick of his nails as his hand clasps around her throat.

She felt it first in the death of her husband all those years ago when a young boy used the Prince consort as an archery board on Tarsus IV. And she feels it again now when she sees the result of Jim's time on Qo'noS in the Admiral's level gaze.

She imagines she can smell her daughter's Risian perfume still cloying to his skin, trying to make herself known, screaming to be remembered.

He takes pleasure in death. It makes it difficult to hide his actions to those who know what to look for. And the Empress knows what to look for. She has not existed in this world for as long as she has without picking up a few hints and tricks. The key to ruling an Empire is to get out while you still can. This secret has kept her bed warm when her husband hadn't. Knowing that her life will one day be more important than her power has been an unexpected comfort in these long harsh days.

Jim is happy to release her from her cage.

But shall he step inside?

 

...

Jim is balls-deep inside McCoy when Spock informs him he will need to decide a date for his coronation.

"Tuesday."

"Tuesday?" McCoy and Spock question in unison.

"You were born on a Tuesday." Jim hisses into McCoy's throat.

"I hate you." McCoy moans.

"Now, now, Empress consort, you don't mean that." Jim says, relentlessly slamming against McCoy's prostate. McCoy's keening is a particular brand of encouragement that Jim can really get behind. It speaks louder than any words of love could because it speaks of need and desire which are much more tangible than the fickle mistress Love.

Jim can manipulate need but he's not sure he'd know what to do if faced with love.

He'd probably have McCoy put down.

 

...

"You look wonderful, dear." Jim smirks, leering at McCoy in his new navy suit, waistcoat and all; crisp white shirt, cherry-red tie. Sulu snickers and Jim shoots him a deathly glare. "I can take her away as quickly as I gave her to you, Hikaru."

"Yes, Emperor. Forgive me, sire." Sulu gulps. The Enterprise is his now but Jim had been tempted to have her remodelled into a private hover-yacht and so Sulu's Captaincy over her is tentative to say the least.

"And doesn't all that grovelling sound might pretty." McCoy smiles spitefully at Sulu and takes his seat to the right of Jim. Spock is sat on Jim's left and Nyota flanks his other side. Sulu is at the other end of the table with Chekov on his right, Chapel on his left and Scotty in between McCoy and the new CMO.

McCoy's glad Christine killed Geoff, she deserves a promotion after all that scuff with Korby.

"How is the old girl doing anyway, Scotty?" Jim asks, even though he's only been off of her for just shy of a month.

"She misses you, Jimmy." Scotty says jovially. "Her lights just seem dimmer."

Jim grins at Scotty's unwavering loyalty. If Sulu is half the Captain Jim was he'll booth Scotty for a good six hours for those few treasonous words and Scotty knows that. Yet he's batting for Jim nonetheless.

That's real power.

They'll miss him. In their own sick and twisted ways. Not so much Chekov, now that he's Captain's woman and all.

McCoy has adapted to royal consort like a duck to water but complains about it frequently just because he can.

_I'm the Surgeon General, darling, not a Princess._

Jim is thankful for his consort's Southern upbringing. No one had to tell McCoy that consorts, even more than newly-minted Emperor's must earn their place. And he plays the part more than Jim could ever had imagined.

He's still a disobedient little bitch in the bedroom.

Baby steps, Jim reminds himself. _Baby. Steps._

Jim reorders Starfleet in such a way that McCoy is able to execute his role as Surgeon General from his private office and laboratories within their palace rather than from Starfleet Medical Centre. McCoy said time the odd few days apart would do them good, keep things fresh. Jim refused to compromise the needs of his libido and McCoy refuses to allow him to take mistresses.

 Not that Jim wanted to take a mistress.

 Why have replicated beer when you could have premium Scotch?

 And Jim was Emperor now, replicated beer just would not do.

 

...

"We need an heir." Jim says flicking through documents on his PADD while they are served tea in their boudoir. McCoy has developed slightly exhibitionist tendencies, like a kitten that wants constant attention, wants to keep you enthralled with the cute little things it can do with its tail. He roles his shoulders, tensing the muscles in his back and arching his spine, the curve of his arse barely concealed by the thin layer of cotton they're sleeping under. He looks up to see the blush creep over their Betazoid serving-maid's cheeks.

"So adopt someone." McCoy says.

"No. We need an _heir_." Jim repeats.

" _You_ need an heir. You can get Rand pregnant." McCoy suggested.

Rand had been the only transfer from the Enterprise to the palace. That was due to the fact, and yes it is a fact, that Rand was someone who was unfaltering in her obedience. Jim needed a little bit of that around the place.

"I'm not having a bastard child." Jim states.

"Well what exactly do you plan to do?" McCoy demands, defiance in his pretty hazel eyes. "Because I'm not exactly equipped to carry your love child."

" _Our_ love child." Jim amends. "And you don't need a womb for us to have a child who is genetically ours. Spock's going to empty out one of Janice's eggs, put your DNA inside it and then we're just going to do the old traditional IVF."

"Because it's that easy." McCoy huffs.

"You're the doctor, I'm just a mere Emperor." Jim grins and catches the eye of the serving-maid who is currently pouring cream over Jim's strawberries.

The jolt of his knife in her throat calms him slightly and he exhales a long indulgent breath. The heavy thump of her body hitting the floor makes McCoy look up from the freckles on Jim's ribcage. He frowns.

"You're a monster." McCoy huffs, setting his head on Jim's chest.

"I hope it's a boy." Jim murmurs, sucking a bruise into McCoy's shoulder.

 

...

Someone tries to kill Rand while she's four months pregnant. They get as far as drawing a pinprick of blood from her throat before they are apprehended. Phasers set to stun because no one of sound mind would impinge on Jim's right to strangle the life out of the bastard with his own bare hands.

No one apart from McCoy.

When Jim finally makes it down to the holding cells in the palace's modern equivalent of a dungeon the culprit is clinging onto life thanks only to the adrenaline McCoy is methodically pumping through his system. The old-fashioned way with an intravenous drip and the slow, steady clench of his fist. Jim's breath catches as he looks across the room at his consort. He's in his Surgeon General's scrubs, they're a dark, very fetching, purple, and he's cutting away the skin from the man's clavicle. McCoy has methodically worked from the bridge of his patient's foot, pulling back skin and fatty-flesh and muscle and tendons until the shock of white bone is on show. Jim watches the show completely enraptured with McCoy.

 The bastard flatlines when McCoy is working on his second shoulder.

"Leave him." Jim says. "Come to bed."

McCoy is shaking. Looking down at his masterpiece as if he doesn't recognise it as his own.

"You're shaking." Jim says aloud, his voice light and breezy, trying to reassure McCoy. Jim pulls the laser scalpel out of his hand and sets it into the titanium dish, a trace of blood on his fingertips. "So stunning." Jim says with awe, there is a splash of claret on McCoy's cheek and Jim presses his thumb to it, deliberately making it smug.

Like war-paint.

 

...

The tale had spread over the Empire before the month was out. Jim began calling McCoy _Bones_ as if it were a title bestowed on brave soldiers. Scotty sent a congratulatory comm and a request for the holovid of Bones' 'artwork'. Jim replied with his thanks but unapologetically refused to allow Scotty an insight into Bones' savagery.

It would be preserved like a myth or folklore. Like a whisper among the stars.

"I need to be on Delta V tomorrow morning." Bones says over their evening coffee, which comes before the whiskey. Jim does love the whiskey.

"We're going to Milan on Thursday." Jim reminds.

"It's a conference that I'd like to attend. You're the Emperor, Milan will wait for you." Bones uses his please-indulge-me voice and couples it with a bottom heavy pout, elongating his neck in Jim's direction.

"When did you learn how to manipulate me?" Jim asks.

"In the queen consort classes I've been taking." Bones huffs.

"Three days in Delta V enough for you?" Jim wonders.

"Perfect." Bones grins, laying his charming Southerner on thick. "You really are a _merciful_ and _generous_ ruler."

"You're so full of shit." Jim says just as sweetly. And Bones surges forward for a kiss, it's wet and tongue laden and filthy dirty and its a promise of what's to come if Jim forgoes the whiskey and get's Bones into bed. Now.

 

...

"If you fuck her I swear to god I'll never let you touch me again." Bones growls when they get back to their suite, ripping off his charcoal dinner jacket and flinging it across the room. They're in Cape Town for an annual something or other where socialites gather together to fawn over the Emperor.

"You didn't mind so much when it was me potentially impregnating Janice!" Jim yells, slamming the door behind him as he follows Bones' trail of destruction through their rooms. "You don't get to tell me what to do! You just sit beside me and look pretty. Distract foreign dignitaries. Keep your mouth _shut_."

"Fuck you." Bones huffs. "I can be a slut too you know, wasn't that how this started, me as your whore to keep my ass from being public property through the academy?"

"For all the good it did me. You're about as grateful as an angry Romulan." Jim spits.

"What do I have to be grateful for, you're fit to jump into bed with some little harlot because her daddy's strutting her around under your nose. Did you ever consider why Mr. Andorian Ambassador is peacocking his prettiest daughter in front of you?" Bones demands.

"I don't really care." Jim states. "We never had monogamy before I became Emperor. You demanding it now seems somewhat contradictory."

"I'm not demanding it." Bones scowls. "I'm merely offering you an ultimatum. Maybe she'll be worth it. Maybe you can take a hundred, thousand little whores but your right to my body will be terminated. And I'll indulge myself elsewhere."

"You will _not_." Jim growls.

"So you get to fuck whoever you like and I just have to accept it?" Bones questions.

"Yes. Precisely." Jim nods. "They always said you were a genius."

"I wonder who I'll take up with first." Bones muses, stepping out onto the balcony.

"Don't test me Bones, I'll tie you to the fucking _bedpost_." Jim hisses through gritted teeth.

"Promises, promises." Bones retorts sardonically. "You better head back down. You'll be missed when they break out the cigars and Risian Brandy." He huffs.

"I'm not coming home tonight Bones." Jim says, tone grave.

"We'll if there's someone else in your bed in the morning you only have yourself to blame." Bones counters, equally grave.

Jim slams the door on his way out.

He never makes it to the Brandy room. The Ambassador attempts to corner Jim in the foyer, telling him dirty stories of his daughter's naked body and Jim just smiles. The Andorians are irritating leeches and they've gotten under Jim's skin and to make things worse he's still reeling from the fight with Bones. So he slits the Andorian Ambassador's throat to shut him up, fucks his daughter and slits her throat too because her screaming is giving him a migraine. Then he leaves them both to bleed out on the grand staircase, signalling the two valets on hand to clear up the mess.

When he returns to their suite at two in the morning Bones is still sitting on the balcony. There is one third of a bottle of bourbon left and Bones is only in some cotton pyjama pants, a slight sheen of sweat on his shoulders.

Jim traces a hand over his back and Bones jerks away.

"Don't touch me." Bones orders quietly.

"Bones." Jim feigns diplomacy.

"Was she worth it?" Bones asks gently.

"No. I slit her throat." Jim admits.

"Because she didn't preform _admirably_?" Bones wonders, spite and Bourbon making his voice rasp.

"Because her father was using her to come between us, I think you caught his eye. You _are_ beautiful." Jim says, blowing a cool breeze over Bones' neck. "I can't say I blame him."

"So why sleep with her?" Bones demands.

"Because you have to learn your place. You _cannot_ order me about." Jim replies.

"You sound so infantile it's pathetic." Bones spits. Standing and marching back into the house.

" _I_ sound infantile? You were throwing your toys out of the pram because I fucked someone else." Jim huffs. "It's not as if that's an unusual occurrence."

"I'm going to bed. Join me and I'll _castrate_ you." Bones snaps, then something snaps inside of Jim and he curls his fingers around Bones' biceps, yanking him closer in a bruising grip. Jim's eyes show how livid he is. He's seething. Fuming. His heart is pounding like it hasn't since he broke Khan's skull. Since he gutted Nero like a fish.

"Jim let go." Bones says, breathing still even, and that does nothing to dissipate the Emperor's anger.

"Lie on the bed face down." Jim says coldly.

"What?" Bones asks, voice breaking. But Jim doesn't repeat himself and Bones doesn't move, not because he's being difficult but because Jim still has him in that vice grip and Bones doesn't know how to extricate himself. "Jim, I can't." He says flexing his shoulder. "You're hurting me." He adds.

"Wouldn't be the first time." Jim counters. Blue eyes cold like the North Sea. He let's go of Bones. And they stare at each other for a few drawn out moments. Jim can see that Bones wants to refuse, wants to spit in his face and stick him with the dagger strapped to his left thigh. Then something else flashes and Jim knows that Bones is considering apologising, considering using all the tools in his arsenal to back himself out of this mess.

He just needs Bones to obey. That's what he needs. As if Jim had said as much aloud Bones nods and turns to walk towards the bedroom. He lies stomach down, head turned to face Jim's pillow, and he waits. Jim's weight on the bed is unsettling. He's knelt over him, knees bracketing Bones' thighs. Jim dips forward hands gripping Bones' shoulders and licks a stripe along Bones' spine.

"What you need to understand..." Jim murmurs. "Is that you are mine."

He bites down on the crease of Bones' neck and can feel the thumpthumpthump of his pulse. He let's his tongue trail up his throat to nip at Bones' earlobe.

"I have the monopoly over you. Over your body. You sold your soul to the devil over ten years ago and he's not relinquishing ownership just yet." Jim slips his hands under the waistband of Bones' sleep-pants, pulling them over the swell of his arse and down his thighs. Bones stays perfectly still.

Docile, acquiescent.

Once they're all the way off Jim unclips the strap around Bones' thigh, waiting for the dagger to clatter against the real wooden floor before reverently ghosting his hands over the now bare skin.

"I make the rules." Jim whispers. "I'll do whatever and whoever I want and you'll be there when I get home. I need to be in charge, people look to me as a beacon of power."

"And what about how they look at me?" Bones murmurs. "I lose much of my appeal when you're running around fucking anything that moves."

"You didn't care when we were on the Enterprise." Jim says.

"I was grateful for the reprieve." Bones agrees.

"But now?" Jim prompts.

"I don't know." Bones shrugs. "People are watching now. I have a reputation or something. It's different, being a captain's plaything is degrading so you fight against it but being, being this... a consort... I don't know. It's stupid. I'm being stupid. Do what you want."

"Being a consort is what, Bones?" Jim demands.

"It's flattering." Bones says. "People look at me as if I have the answers. Like I'm something important, something rare. It's like I'm doing the job right by keeping you in our bed. I don't much care, really, if you want to sleep with other people. But it looks as if your bored with me. It hasn't even been a year yet, our baby isn't even born yet, and you're already starting to stray."

"It's not that I want to sleep with other people." Jim says, slightly hurt at Bones admission that he 'doesn't much care, really'. "But sometimes it's an effective tool. Same as it was on the Enterprise. I'll always come back to you."

"You're going to shower before you fuck me." Bones concedes. "I can still smell her on you."

 

...

Janice gives birth to a baby girl on a cold night in November. Jim contemplates slitting both their throats.

Bones forbids it.

So Jim reconsiders.

She has big blue eyes, but they're warmer than the usual Kirk blue. There is an innocence in them that Jim's never had and a joy there that Bones' have long since lost. Her hair is soft, a deep mahogany colour with a slight curl to it. Bones has her in a lilac onesie the first time Jim meets her, with a white fur collar and little matching mittens to shield her from the cold.

"What are we calling her?" Jim asks.

"Nyota likes Darcy. It means dark one in some old celtic language." Bones shrugs.

"Darcy." Jim says gently, letting her curl her chubby fingers around his pinky.

"What's next then, Emperor?" Bones asks.

"Relax for a while, Bonesy. Don't we have all we've ever wanted?" Jim grins like a piraña.

"All you've ever wanted." Bones corrects.

"Ah now, sweetheart, you can't deny our little princess. A bundle of pure perfection." Jim says tritely.

"You wanted a boy Jim, it's okay she doesn't understand disappointment yet." Bones huffs, pulling Darcy closer to him.

"You make a wonderful mother." Jim says.

"S'only taken you eleven years to knock me up." Bones grins.

"We could always tr-"

"No." Bones shakes his head. "Let's just, just... bask for a while."

"So you don't want a womb for your fortieth, no?" Jim grins.

"Stay away from my internals Jim."

 

 ...

Jim Kirk is a minor cut that won't stop bleeding.

Irritating and horribly persistent, requiring constant attention.

But it's okay, for the most part, Bones _is a doctor_ , after all.


End file.
